


Rewind, Reverse, and Replay

by The_Maiden_of_Autumn



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Maiden_of_Autumn/pseuds/The_Maiden_of_Autumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world of Death Note has been rewound. Roles are reversed, lives are reversed, personalities are reversed, and the tape commences as the play button is pressed. But tapes get off their tracks sometimes, and the outcome of the battle between Kira and L this time around is going to be quite shocking…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rewind, Reverse, and Replay

Light's father had often talked to him about justice.

It made sense, as his father was a police officer in Tokyo, Japan, and was extremely good at what he did. When Light was small, he and his father had been close, which was nothing odd between father and son.

And there were those times when Light's father came home in an almost boisterous mood, laughing and oddly carefree for a serious, hardened police official. But eventually, Light found that it was when a case was solved, a criminal caught and brought to justice that put that wonderful, happy sparkle in his father's stern eyes. And it was when that sparkle appeared in his father's eyes that he would play with Light as he had when he was very small, spend the whole rest of the night, and the weekend if the case was solved on a Friday with Light, devoting all of his attention to the son he sometimes was forced to neglect for the sake of his job.

And so, Light started looking forward to the times when a criminal was caught, because of this. Because it allowed his father to interact with him in a way that grew exceedingly rarer as Light grew older.

Justice meant time spent with his precious father, and so Light grew to adore this thing called justice, looking for the days when it was delivered at the hands of his father.

Eventually, Light learned the real meaning of the word, and that only stoked the adoration he had for the word, the idea. Bringing men who had done wrong, people who had hurt others, could hurt his father if the older man was not careful… Light grew to respect and fear that word, and as such, at the age of 8, Light wanted nothing more than to follow in his father's footsteps.

And even at the tender age of 8, as Light showed an uncanny aptitude for observation and problem solving skills, along with an unnatural intelligence, his father wanted nothing more than _for_ his son to be a police officer, or perhaps even a detective. Light would shine brilliantly at whatever he chose to do, his father was confident, and his wife seconded her husband's opinion.

And so everything was right, until one cold day in February.

Light could never, no matter how hard he tried, forget that awful day that set his whole life askew.

He still remembered, late at night, when the room was dark and the shadows turned into figures that seemed more threatening than shadows should be, the way the armed men had slunk into his house.

The gloves his kidnappers had been wearing still scratched against his lips, the roughness of the material catching and snagging against the dry skin as they clamped over his mouth. The sickly-sweet smell of whatever his kidnappers had eaten and remained on their breath still lingered in his nostrils in the dead of the night, and his wrists still burned with the rope that had been harshly wrapped around his wrists.

Dragged down the steps of his family's house, he had been thrown roughly onto the floor of their living room, watching, terrified, as his mother and father were dragged down as well, and his sister was tossed next to him, carelessly as if she were a rag doll.

Light still remembered the way the rope had snapped with a loud sound as it was jerked straight, ricocheting around the unnaturally silent house, almost drowning out the eerily similar sound of his mother's neck breaking as the murderers hung her.

He still couldn't forget the way he had watched, wide-eyed and unable to do anything as his father was repeatedly stabbed, the knife sliding home into chest, legs, arms, stomach, each missing a vital point so he wouldn't die, but be left in unbearable pain. The way the light had faded out of his father's eyes when he finally was a _llowed_ to die still haunted him.

But what he remembered the most, remembered the clearest was when the men seeking revenge on his father for putting their friend in prison and later executed, when their cold, sadistic eyes slid to his sister, and him, making him feel as if they was cornered, stalked like a rabbit caught by a fox, or perhaps a mouse by a cat.

The one thing that Light could still be thankful for was that they had not assaulted him nor his sister- apparently, even murderers had morals about molesting children. Instead, they had shot his sister in the stomach, and then laughing sadistically, had freed Light from his bonds and shoved the gun into his hands.

Let her die slowly and painfully, they told him, or put her out of her misery. It was a horrible ultimatum- one that had Light frozen and watching as his sister writhed and gasped in pain on the floor, her brown eyes beseeching him, her older and revered brother, to help her.

It was this that had made him raise the gun- but not at his sister. Instead, he had whirled on his attackers and fired the gun blindly, aiming to kill just one of them, please, God, just one of those motherfuckers that had invaded his house, his home, his sanctuary and broken his life apart.

In the end, he had only shot one of them, the murderer crumpling to the ground with thump as the other three fled with curses as the bullets from the pistol Light wielded flew around their heads. But Light counted carefully- he knew how many bullets this type of pistol held, and he was very careful, so careful to leave one in there.

He waited, listening carefully until he was sure the three men were gone- and then, he turned to his sister, dropping to his knees at her side. Blood leaked out from her waist, and there was the sharp smell of acid- the bullet must have ruptured a place in his sister's intestine, causing stomach acid to escape from the organ.

Her brown eyes gazed up at him, hazy with pain, and she blinked, before nodding her head as her eyes locked onto the gleaming silver pistol Light still held within his grasp.

Do it, she told him. It's alright- I understand.

Light turned his head to the side, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. His sister had always been mature for her age, Light still remembered, event to his day, and most likely would have grown up to match, if not rival his own intelligence if this had never happened.

Light had nodded once, bringing the gun up, but not to her head. He still remembered watching a movie where the main character had put his horse down by shooting it on the head, and the image of putting his sister down like a common animal seemed to wrong and still made him want to vomit at the thought. Instead, he brought the gun to her chest, poised directly above her heart, and after whispering a heart-wrenching apology, and pulled the trigger, his heart breaking as the shot that ended his lovely sister's life echoed around the deathly silent house. He had dropped the gun, backing away, turning his back on the sight before him as he surveyed the scene before him.

Bile still rose in his throat whenever Light remembered that he hadn't been _important_ enough, _worth_ enough to be killed and released from the nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He had dropped to his knees, head clasped in his hands, trying to process what had just happened to him, to his life.

And later, as he finally got enough strength to stand up, albeit wobbily and gaze around, taking in his dead parents, it was then that his eyes hardened.

Justice… it had not saved his parents, and had not spared him in the end. It was flawed, he knew. It wasn't perfect. He did not blame his father, but instead those that allowed men like this to run free.

For an 8 year old, Light was uncannily smart, he knew it himself. Could tell in the way children his age shied away from him, and adults were uncomfortable around him.

Walking unsteadily over to his father's body, he sank down with a sigh, reaching out to grasp the hand that was steadily becoming more chilled as the minutes passed.

Sitting there, by the cooling corpse of his father, Light thought and pondered until the late morning, when his father's partner came by to see why the Light's father wasn't at work that day. The man's name was Quillish Whammy, and along with being a police officer, he was also an inventor on the side, often allowing Light to help him on smaller projects, delighting in the way the brilliant young boy's mind seemed to be able to grasp and conquer any task Quillish set for him quickly.

What he found horrified him. It was the way that his partner's son, blood-spattered and filthy, was sitting calmly at his father's side, thoughtful, yet blank amber eyes sliding up to meet his own. It was how the bodies just _lay_ there, eyes closed and if not for the blood on his partner's chest and crooked angle of his friend's wife's neck as she hung from the rafters, they could have been merely at rest. And the daughter… shot in the heart and stomach and resting there, eyes wide open, staring and unseeing.

Light himself was not bothered by the corpses; that would come later. For right now, he was simply thinking about what was to come next. His life had been altered irrevocably, he knew. A rage, hot and red and insidious, was slipping into his brain, rage at the flawed justice system that had allowed men like the ones that had ruined his family, his life, his future, to roam free. It was the spark of an idea, planted by his brilliant mind and fueled by his father's words.

Even his father had known that their justice was not perfect. He remembered his father reminiscing about the world's way of dealing with criminals, clear as day.

_"The system is not perfect, my son." His father had said sadly, looking down at the small boy resting contentedly on his lap. It was one of the good days, a day when his father had solved a case, and after the initial excitement had worn off, the whole house had settled into a state of relaxation, contentedness saturating the air around them. "We are only human beings; average intelligence, simple minds attempting to do the best we can to help the good people of this world by putting bad people away. But you… you are above average; you are like a shining star in the dark sky that is humanity. You have the potential to do something great with your life, Light. You could potentially change the world, if you set your mind to it."_

And so, those words ringing in his ears, Light had dropped his father's hand, and stood shakily to his feet. Anger and a fierce determination flashed in those remarkable amber eyes, replacing the blank thoughtfulness of earlier. "Quillish," Light had said determinedly. "I want to catch the men who did this- and every one of them like them. I want to have them judged and found guilty and _punished_ for their crimes. Will you help me?"

* * *

It was Light's fervor that had stunned Quillish, before the emotions flashing in Light's eyes let him know the 8 year old genius was serious about this. And so, his own creative mid working furiously, standing in the home of his deceased friend's home, Quillish suddenly saw an opportunity to put to affect a plan that had been niggling at the back of his brain for so long.

Light would make an excellent detective, Quillish knew. With the determination, the intelligence, and the thirst to catch criminals… he could become one of the finest detectives in the world.

And so, not 5 minutes after Light's request that would seem ridiculous to anyone who didn't know the boy so well, who would have thought it was the shock talking, Quillish hesitantly nodded, crouching down to explain his idea, steadfastly ignoring the disturbing sight of the corpses Light was standing nonchalantly next to.

It would have to happen in utmost secrecy, Quillish told Light. They would have to disappear, as no one could know of his connection, lest their identities be discovered. The life of a detective was often a dangerous one, one that accrued many enemies and dangerous men out to get them.

They would have to leave the country, start a new life, and Light would have to study, study hard and train both his body and his mind. If Light wanted to be able to catch the best, he'd have to be the best.

And Light agreed instantly, a light glinting in his eyes that Quillish was uneasy to see. Revenge was not always the best motivation, but in some cases, cases like this where one had lost everything… it was the only thing the person had left, that could keep them going.

So Quillish dismissed it, instead using his skills to set the house on fire to make it look like an accident, raiding the morgue of the nearby mortuary for a boy's body about Light's size and setting it in the blazing house as well.

Then, not waiting to see the house be razed to the ground, Quillish and Light, each carrying only a single suitcase with a small portion of their belongings, caught a train to the airport, where they proceeded to purchase a ticket, board the plane bound for England, and disappear into thin air.


End file.
